


Late at Night, Calm and Quiet

by igotout



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips, Slow Burn, minor suicide mention - related to a case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 01:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15764241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igotout/pseuds/igotout
Summary: Dean works a case, an old monster in a dark forest. When it goes south, some unlikely companions come along for the ride.It's life changing, even if it doesn't feel like it at first.





	Late at Night, Calm and Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Despite being on the short side, this fic has taken me a long time to finish. I wrote the first couple thousand words five years ago and have been adding to it every now and again since then. 
> 
> Thank you so much to the lovely Fanforfanatic for your time and patience and wonderful opinions and thoughts which I will keep forever and ever.
> 
> I hope you like it.

He chose the diner because it had a broken light.

In it’s sign, it’s window, in everything about it, if he was honest.

The length of the day had settled in his bones, quiet as the mountains he drove towards, and now that he had reached them, he sought the silence of the night - found most often in diner’s with broken lights.

The clock behind the counter told him it was twenty to one, and he rolled his shoulders as he approached it. The cashier pushed a laminated menu towards him, and he didn’t touch it because he’d already seen the words “burger” and “bacon” and no longer had any use for a menu.

 “I’ll take the number two with extra fries on the side,” he said, as he shoved five dollars at the man behind the counter, whose name tag said “Chris” because the manager thought “Castiel” was too weird and would prompt a lot of questions that would slow down any business they didn’t get.

Castiel took the money.  

“Receipt?” He asked, not looking at the man.

“Nah,” the man replied, not looking at him.

He shoved the change back across the counter, unaware that his fingers were on the only money that Dean Winchester had to hold to his name.

Castiel went to wake the fry cook and Dean sat at a table by the window, looking out into the quiet of the night - he’d been right when he thought he’d find it here.

His food arrived quickly, and it was warm, and Dean was so grateful that he left his last seventy cents on the table for the cashier and his heavenly fry cook.

Dean had received a call from Bobby that morning, telling him there was a small town named Wilson at the foot of the Tetons, and that people there were showing up dead - and not by accident. The coroner had written “suicide” on the badly-photocopied form, but there was enough not quite right with it all, and it had Bobby Singer picking up his phone.

Cradled in a valley and watched over by mountain peaks, the town was small and quiet - and apparently full. Dean saw no motel, and the one Bed and Breakfast boasted a single bed, and wasn’t open at one in the morning anyway. He thought of finding another motel, but his eyelids felt too heavy to stay open for the fifteen minute drive back to the last town he saw. Dean headed out to the trees at the other end of town, parking beneath them to sleep in his backseat - he would work the case in the morning, there was nothing to be done now.

He dreamed of his mother.

  
*

 

Castiel shut off the main lights of the diner, and waited by the back door for Ash, who was wiping down the bench tops for morning. Why a diner in a town of a thousand people was open until three in the morning had always been a little bit beyond his comprehension.

“Ash, are you nearly done?” He asked, leaning in the door slightly.

“Nearly, dude. Hey, you feel like a soda?”

“Can’t, I already cleared the register.”

“So?”

“Ash.”

“Damnit.”

Ash swung out the door, cigarette in hand, and watched Castiel lock up.

“You want to go for a walk?” Ash asked.

“Nah, it feels weird tonight,” Castiel replied, “Let’s just get home.”

“Alright.”

They walked off into the night, in the opposite direction of the woods, cigarette smoke trailing behind them. Wilson was still at three in the morning, and Castiel liked it best that way.

By ten o’clock the next day, Dean had checked into the only room at the Bed and Breakfast and talked his way into the town’s police station. He spoke with the Sheriff about the bodies that had been found in the woods, realizing that he’d probably slept near whatever this thing was, if there was a thing at all.

 

“So they were all taken to the woods and hanged?” He asked.

“Well... We’re not certain about murder,” the Sheriff said, “There were no signs of any struggle, as if they all went willingly. But if it is suicide, they’ve all gone the same way. And how a twelve year old got a noose over a branch that high, I will never understand. I think it’s best to suspect foul play, but I don’t think it will come to much.”

“Right,” Dean said, “No connections between any of them, and who’s going to be murdering so many people in such a small town?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, if you find anything, you give me a call. I’ll head out to the woods to see if I can find anything.” Dean said, excusing himself with a smile.

He drove past the broken-light-diner on his way to the other end of town, but he didn’t have time to stop. He thought about it though.

Parking back under the trees, he turned his car off and sat for a bit, looking. Listening to the rustle of the pines above him. He got out of the car, and walked deeper into the trees. The light was different in this valley, and it made him want to climb the nearest slope, until he could see the sun again. An irrational squeezing in his gut told him he wouldn’t.

The squeeze became a clench as a voice, her voice, drifted across the breeze, mingling with the quiet conversation of the trees. He almost thought he’d imagined it, as one often does in these situations, but then it came again. Calling him, his name.

“Mom?” He said back into the air, willing his words to get to her.

He called her again, and she replied, and for a moment his heart soared. And then he remembered that he stood in the wood where three people died and that this was probably why. When he didn’t hear her voice again, he got in his car and left, dialling as he drove.

“Bobby, hi.” He said when Bobby picked up the phone.

“What’ve you found?”

“Like you said, murders that could be suicides, people lured into the woods. I went to check it out, and I swore I heard-” Dean swallowed, thickly, “My, uh, my mom.”  

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“What was she saying.”

“My name, mostly. For me to come find her.”

“Well now, if that doesn’t ring all sorts of bells. Sit tight, I’ve got a feeling.” Bobby said, hanging up.

Dean threw his phone onto the seat and sighed. He’d thought about calling Sam and telling him, but Sam was at college and Dean figured that meant he didn’t want to know anything about Dean or ghosts or the voice of their dead mother.  So he kept driving.

The diner seemed entirely different in the day time. It had waitresses who smiled at him, on their way to tend to the families and couples and old people who filled the booths. It had the noise of a diner, completely different to the dead of night, the high schooler behind the till faking a smile as she asked him what he would like to order today, sir.

Dean frowned at her as he remembered the quiet man from last night and his efficient kitchen staff of one.

“Uh, number two. Extra fries.”

He payed by credit card (fraudulently), and took it to-go.

  
  
*

 

Castiel was never really sure how he ended up in Wilson. He rented a room in a duplex owned by the butcher, and lived there with Ash, who’d landed in Wilson a few years back, looking for a place to ‘lay low’, as he often said with a wink and a nod. Ash had a mullet, but they got along well. No one was really sure where Ash had come from, but he worked at Jack’s Diner down the road and he bought a lot of beer, so no one really minded him.

Castiel often wanted to ask what a guy like Ash was doing in Wilson, but he always thought better of it. Probably because Ash had never asked him the same. It just seemed strange that someone who knew so much about physics and how to build supercomputers would want to spend so much time in a mouldy house under the shadow of a mountain. But then, Castiel knew that people thought similar things about himself - he put it down to his being vastly well read.

After he graduated from High School, Ash got him the night shift at the diner. He liked it there, as much as anyone could like working at a diner in a small town. Castiel sometimes worked days, but the place always felt different then. He liked it better at night when it was just him and Ash, making burgers for anyone coming through town. Mostly they just talked while Ash smoked joints out the kitchen window, or sometimes they’d play chess or cards or buy fries all night, just for something to do. Once, when Ash had talked Castiel into joining him at the window, they got stupidly high and ate everything in the dessert cabinet. In the morning Ash told their boss a bear did it. Their boss gave them both a warning.

On what he thought it was a regular Friday evening, Castiel began what was to be his last shift at the diner. When he started at seven, it was already getting a bit dark, and Ash had a case of beer in the fridge out back for when it got to be two in the morning and everyone in Wilson but the both of them were safe in their beds.

“Do you think we’ll be busy tonight?” Ash said.

Castiel shrugged. If anyone wanted to go out, they came to Jack’s, and so he figured they’d see a small rush before ten o’clock.

“Not overly so.”

“You ready for the weekend?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how doing all the things we usually do but in a tent will make them any more exciting.”

“You never been camping though, man.”

“I don’t understand the problem.”

“I guess not. You pack all your worldly possessions?”

“I wasn’t sure if you were joking, so I did.” Cas said, despite his only packing the two shirts he liked and a change of pants.

“Castiel. Dude.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t have any worldly possessions. But I packed all my clean underwear and my entire stash, so I’m set to go.”

Castiel wasn’t sure if he meant drug stash or food stash, and he didn’t bother asking.

Ash grinned at him, and cracked open a beer.

Cas leaned against the counter and waited.

 

 

Dean knew he was in trouble.

Bobby phoned and let him know he was dealing with a Crocotta, and an outdated one at that. Usually these things had adapted to technology and phoned or emailed their victims. It had been a long time since one had gone old school and lured people into the woods. Then again, Dean reasoned, this town was on the small side of podunk.

Bobby had yawned through the phone and assured him that all he needed to do was stab the thing in the back of the neck. It was proving a lot harder than it sounded. He’d managed to find it, wearing the skin of some poor guy from town. Dean thought he’d seen him outside the police station at some point.

“Oh no you don’t, you bastard.” Dean said to himself.

It was clear that the Crocotta was heading into town, to try and find a crowd who would bear witness to Dean’s murderous rampage. Baring his teeth, the Crocotta headed to the broken-light-diner, growling. Dean sighed, and followed him in. Taking a quick glance around, he noted two families at the tables to his left, two men and a woman sitting at the counter, and a group of bingo players behind him to his right.

The cashier from last night was there, eyes wide and face pale. Dean didn’t notice it, but it was the face of someone who had just seen a man bare more teeth than anyone had business having.

“Help me!” The Crocotta yelled, “This lunatic is trying to kill me!”

“Isn’t that the fed?” He heard a bingo player behind him say.

Dean grit his teeth. This wasn’t going to end well. He advanced on the monster, who was knocking over anything he could reach, pushing the woman at the counter off her stool, getting as many things between itself and Dean as it could. Satisfied, it turned to run - straight into the cashier, who was now in front of the counter

“Ash!” He called, struggling against his captive.

A guy with a mullet, who Dean presumed to be Ash, came through from the kitchen, a joint in his hand.

“Well now, who’s causing trouble?” He drawled, not knowing the danger of the situation, “You looking for a fight, buddy?”

Ash leapt over the counter and punched the Crocotta twice in the gut and once in the face, before helping the Cashier get a grip on it.

Dean saw his chance and took it, plunging his knife deep into the back of it’s neck.

Someone screamed.

Dean looked up and saw the terrified face of his cashier. Who, he figured, was now his accomplice in what looked a lot like a murder.

“Someone call the Sheriff!” came a panicked voice.

“You gonna come with me, or you staying put?” Dean asked hurriedly, in a low voice, eyes to the ground.

“Do I look stupid?” The guy responded quickly, looking to his friend, “Ash, grab our shit from the back. I’ll meet you at the end of the street.”

Castiel dropped the body, grabbing at Dean as he ran for the door. Ash jumped back over the counter. More people screamed.

 

Castiel sprinted down the road, his breath stuck in his throat. He could hear the guy behind him, keeping pace.

“That’s your car, right?” He shouted over his shoulder as they approached the trees, and the sleek black car parked just in front of them.

“Yeah!” The guy called back, “Get in, we’ll grab your friend.”

Castiel was running so fast he didn’t hear, nearly crashed into the car’s massive rear end. His fingers shook as he reached the passenger side door, grasping for the handle in the dark. He heard the fumble of keys, and then the door was unlocked. He slid into the car in unison with the stranger he had just helped commit a murder. The car roared to life and was put in gear.

“We have to get Ash.” Castiel panted.

“We are.” Was the response he got, as they car began to reverse at breakneck speed, right down the road.

Ash met them in the middle, chucking the bags he carried in the back, before diving in after them. Castiel slid down in his seat, panic building under the stiff polyester of his diner shirt.

“East or west?”  The guy asked him, spinning the steering wheel.

“Head out to Jackson, if we go through the mountains it’s a one road deal and we could get trapped. Out east, we’ll have more paths to choose from, with fewer cops chasing us.” Ash said, his joint back in his hand somehow.

“Well, off we go then.” Dean replied, already out of Wilson.

Castiel’s chose to shut his eyes tight and focus on his breathing, rather than look around him as the town he grew up in rushed past in the dark. He’d never see it again. Not that he minded, much.

 

*

  
  
“What the fuck was that, man?” Ash muttered, his joint burned away hours ago.

 It was the first thing anyone had said since they’d started driving, and they’d sat in silence as they sped toward the sun as it gradually peered over the horizon.

 “What was what?” Dean said, focusing on the road, his eyes tired.

 “We just ran away with a guy who stabbed the dentist.” Ash said, kicked the back of Castiel’s seat.

 “Hey, cool it, feet off the leather.” Dean said, frowning over his shoulder.

 “Ash you didn’t see him, there was something wrong.” Castiel said bluntly from where he was curled against the door, head in one hand.

 “What, like a knife through his neck?”

 “No like a horror movie.”

 “Well shit. No more weed on the job for you.”

 “The thing was called a Crocotta,” Dean interrupted, “And probably your dentist was long dead. It was just wearing his skin.”

 Ash snorted.

 “No, really,” Castiel said, twisting in his seat to look at his friend, “When he came in, I heard him growling, and he had all these teeth, like he was half shark.”

 “Kick-ass.”

 “Yeah, and deadly.” Dean muttered.

They were quiet for a few moments. Castiel stayed turned around, watching the red of the sun bleed into the sky above the empty house they’d left behind. Ash scratched at his stomach.

“So,” he said, “Half shark people exist?”

Dean huffed a laugh.

“No, but monsters do.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Shit.” Ash breathed, running a hand through his hair.

“‘Shit’ is right.”

“And what, you kill ‘em?”

“Well, I hunt ‘em down. They don’t always need killing. Sometimes they’re already dead - like ghosts and other crap.”

“This is blowing my mind, man.” Ash said, rubbing at his red eyes.

“They’re going to think we planned it.” Cas said.

His body still pulsed with adrenaline, and the intensity of the looked he leveled at Ash was ramped up to eleven.

“Yeah I guess so.” Ash eventually replied, hand coming to rest on his hip.

“How come?” Dean asked.

“We were all set to go camping last night. We got our bags packed and our house locked up. It’ll look like we’re not coming back.”

“Well, we’re not.” Cas said.

“No, I guess not.” Ash said, looking back at his friend.

Castiel turned back around to face the front, the progress of the sunrise having flooded the whole sky. He could see better through the windshield.

“So,” Dean started, “If this is Ash, then who are you?”

Castiel turned to look at him.

“Castiel.”

“Castiel, huh?”

“Mm.”

Dean took his eyes off the road for a minute, and turned to look at the man riding shotgun, who had his chin resting on his knee, his gaze piercing into Dean.

Dean probably looked longer than was safe, before turning back to the road ahead.

“Well, Castiel, where are you headed?”

Castiel snorted.

“Depends on where you’re taking us.”

“I’m taking you wherever you want to go, seeing as you just helped me kill the thing wearing your dentist.”

“We’re not really going anywhere.”

“I know that feeling.” Dean said, more to himself.

He looked at Cas again, who was burning a hole in the side of his head. He’d acted pretty quickly under pressure, seeing razor teeth and still jumping willingly into the fray. Dean felt vaguely impressed.

“You just say when you want to get off the ride, man.” He said, scratching his jaw.

“Okay.” Castiel replied, his chin still resting on his knee.

Dean settled his focus onto the road, letting the rumble of the engine play soundtrack to the regressing of dawn from the sky.  Snores drifted up from the backseat. Castiel kept looking at him.

He kept driving east.

  
  
*  


Dean stuck to the backroads like the last strong stitch keeping a seam together. They were on the cusp of a national park, so he sometimes had no choice but to grace the highways with his presence, because backroads were notorious for not having any signs of civilization - which included gas stations. He had head out of town as fast as his baby could carry him, and it ate up a lot of gas. He’d stopped in Sheridan for his own fuel requirements, because he didn’t really trust the black strips of leather that Ash affectionately called ‘Jerky’.

“We’re pretty close to the Montana State Line. Want to go north?” Dean said into the depth of his chip bag.

“I’ve never left Wyoming since I arrived here.” Castiel said, gnawing absentmindedly on a piece of ‘Jerky’ that reminded Dean of the time he’d had to wrap a body in PVC plastic before burning it.

It smelled similar too, which was the most horrifying part.

“We should go to Mount Rushmore. It’s near here, it’s tourist season, and if we’re lucky, they won’t have put our faces on the news yet.” Ash said from where he lay, his voice rolling in from the backseat, dusty and deep.

“What d’you say, fancy a trip to Rapid City?” Dean said to Castiel, his voice light despite the mood in the car.

“I’ve heard South Dakota is beautiful in late May.” Castiel replied, his tone much the same.

“I bet it’s a sight to see. Although, we’ll have to move through rapidly.”

Ash groaned through a mouthful of Jerky.

“That was terrible.” He said, slinging a loose fist in Dean’s direction.

“So’s your situation, but what’re you gonna do.” Dean said, ignoring the light punches on the back of his seat.

“Puns are no help in effectively escaping police attention,” Castiel said, his tongue firmly in his cheek.

Dean flicked a finger in his direction.

“If we cross a state line, does that mean the Federal Investigators will get involved?” Castiel said, ignoring Dean’s hands.  

“Nah, probably not,” Dean said, a smile emerging, “Only if we get caught doing something else bad.”

A wink was heavily implied.

“The chances of that being what?” Cas said, figuratively winking back.

“Next to nothing, probably.”

“Reassuring.”

Dean rolled his eyes to the right.

“I’m usually far more careful. This creature was a dickbag, lucky enough to be in a small town. Well, lucky for him.”

“I don’t know man, luck is relative,” came Ash’s voice again, “It’s nice to be outta Wilson. Dead end town if ever I saw one.”

“You chose to live there, Ash” Castiel said, gaze settled on the rear-view mirror, “Looking for a dead end to hide in?”

“Never mind that, buddy. Why did you, huh? How did you land there? Maybe you’re already running from the police.”

“I was six.”

“Even so.” Ash said, letting his arm flop out the window and bend softly in the rush of air.

He could have been posing for a painting, legs stretched the width of the cab, with his torso resting on a love-seat of duffel bags, head loling back.  

“Is entering a major city a good idea?” Castiel asked Dean, who shrugged.

“It can’t hurt. I mean, in a small town, the fewer people around, the fewer people to see us, right? But the fewer people that those folks see everyday. We’d stick out like a bunch of sore thumbs. Not good. In a city, there are more people to spot us, but no one’s going to be looking.”

“So you think we should go look at Lincoln’s head rendered in stone?” Castiel asked, his eyes on the road ahead, shimmering in the head of a sun directly overhead.

“I’m always a fan of giant Lincoln.” Dean said, glancing sideways .

Castiel drew his knees up to his chest, his body rising and falling with the car as it rolled steadily over the hot asphalt laid out before them.

“Rushmore it is,” He said eventually, “The more rapidly we get there, the better.”

“Now you’re just forcing it, man.” Dean said, laughing.

“You’re in no place to judge.” Castiel said, feigning severity as he levelled his gaze in Dean’s direction.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Dean said, with a smile and warm eyes for the man sitting next to him.

“Hypocrisy is a sin, you know.”

“Yeah, and you don’t have a leg to stand on.” Dean said, grinning wider as he swung the steering wheel, pulling back onto the interstate that would carry them through the northern edge of Rapid City.

Castiel hid his smile in his eyes, focusing on the curve of the road and the mountains falling away to the right of him. There was every chance that they would get to wherever they were going and, someday, the cops would be waiting to meet them - but Castiel knew in his gut that it was unlikely. He tried to avoid naivety by vowing to himself he wouldn’t blindly trust the man who said monsters were real, but it was a pointless promise. He’d witnessed the creature’s teeth with his own eyes, and he knew a good man when he saw one.

Out from under the shadow of the Tetons, Dean felt as though he could breathe again, as though he wouldn’t just not wake up in the morning and never learn why. He’d called Bobby as they crossed the state line into South Dakota, when Castiel had finally gone to sleep.

“I don’t know where they’re going, Bobby, and neither do they.” He’d said.

“You got better things to be doing than baby-sittin’. Dump ‘em off in the nearest city, and be on your way.”

“I don’t know about that. One of ‘em saw monster teeth and didn’t crap his pants, the other has a big computer and a mean right hook.”

“What have I told you about pickin’ up strays, boy?”

“I’m not! Really, I just feel like I owe them, you know? They helped nail the freak, and then skipped town, no questions asked.”

“Dean...”

“What?” He growled.

“Look. I ain’t talked to your daddy since nineteen ninety-nine, but if you need him to come hunt with you again, I’m, uh... I’m sure I could persuade him.”

“Hah, sure. If he knew I’d been talking to you... And anyway, I’m fine.”

“No Dean, I know how you get when you been all by yourself, and I’m sayin’-”

“Bye Bobby.” Dean flipped his phone shut and threw it in the backseat, narrowly missing Ash’s kneecap.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and frowned into middle-distance. It wasn’t like he was begging anyone to stay, he thought.

In contrast to Dean’s relief, Castiel felt exposed and bare without the steep slopes of rock and tree that he’d looked at every morning. He didn’t think much of what he’d seen of South Dakota so far -it was just as dusty and barren looking as the last few hours of Wyoming. The only green was smattered across distant hills, and he wasn’t used to the beige of dry grass and bare dirt in the summer. The tan of the earth outside was mimicked in the interior of the car and he thought that perhaps he’d never been so trapped in his life. But perhaps not - He’d run away with a man who he was sure could alter police records, into the dark with another guy who had a box filled with identification for every investigative service in the country.

Dean had seen Castiel examining the different cards, and offered to get them their own FBI badges. Ash had voiced his approval, while Castiel smiled wryly, suggesting that they wait and see if they’d escaped successfully before creating more incriminating evidence against themselves.

“At least let me get you a gun, just in case.”

“In case of what? I wouldn’t know how to use one.”

“Not a problem. We’ll get some pumpkins and you can ventilate ‘em until you know how to not miss, and then you’ll be fine.”

“That sounds foolproof.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll be thanking me when you’re stuck somewhere with nothing but lead to help you out. Can Ash shoot?”

“I couldn’t say. He’s an enigma.”

“...Right.”

“I mean that he is mysterious and multifaceted.”

“So probably he can, then.”

“It’s always safer to ask.”

“Well, when his highness wakes up, we’ll see if he can aim for shit.”

Ash could aim for shit, as it turned out. He made Dean pull the car over and hand over a gun, before getting out, stalking towards a fence post at the roadside with a beer in his hand. He drained the can and laid the empty skeleton to rest on the post, before retreating twenty paces to fire at will.

“Look at that, man,” He said loudly, walking back to the car after retrieving the can, “Shot through the heart.”

“Don’t say it.” Castiel said in a low voice, glancing momentarily at Dean, who threw his head back in laughter.

“Not a Bon Jovi fan, I take it.” Dean said.

“It’s his one flaw.” Ash said, reclining once again on his makeshift bed.

“Can we just go look at rock Lincoln please.” Castiel said, not wanting to get into the Bon Jovi fight with Ash - again.

Dean pulled back onto the highway, only twenty miles out from Rapid City.

They lay low in Rapid City for a few days, in a motel on a street lined with trees. Castiel supposed it was canopy of green above his head that made him feel a little more concealed and safe, but perhaps it was because he was being kept preoccupied with learning how to use a firearm. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that the cool metal in his hands was meant for killing, but the weight of it in his palm felt like an acceptable balance to finding out that things really do go bump in the night. He hadn’t actually fired it yet, for which he was glad.

Ash divided his time evenly between sleeping, eating, and searching news websites and police databases for any mention of their names. Dean kept his police scanner on. Castiel fiddled with bullets.

On the third day, Dean said it was unlikely that they’d left a trail behind for anyone to follow, and Ash agreed.

“So you cats are free to hit the road, if you like. I can get you some new identities. I’m heading down to Santa Fe to see a man about a Chupacabra. You’re both welcome to tag along, if you got nothing better to do.”

“A Chupacabra?”

“Yeah. Like a dog. That eats goats. And sometimes people, too. Only it isn’t an actual dog.”

“And what do you do to it?”

“...Dispatch it.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Why not just call pest control?”

“They don’t got the right bullets.” Dean said, with a look full of meaning that Castiel failed to grasp.

“Well, looks like I got some reading to do.” Ash said from the table.

“Yeah, buddy. Ghosts, ghouls, water spirits. All that stuff.”

“I guess we’re coming with you, to Santa Fe,” Castiel said, unsure of himself, “Will it be a long drive?”

“Probably. But you get used to the driving. It’s not so bad. Great down time.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”

Castiel was skeptical, having never spent much time riding in cars.

They headed further east, out of Rapid City until they hit the Missouri River, snaking alongside it for as long as they felt like, just because they could. Dean reasoned that they had time to waste before the Chupacabra would surface again. Ash settled into the back seat again, smoking a freshly rolled joint out the window, reminiscent of hours passed at the diner.

Castiel had never seen a river so large. He sat for an hour with the window rolled all the way down, his chin resting on his arm as the air rushed by, whipping his hair around his face, watching as the sun sparkled and winked at him in the reflection of the water.

“You like the Missouri?” Dean asked him at one point.

“Very much,” He answered, breaking the staring match he had with the river, “I’ve never seen so much water in my life.”

“Well, wait until I take you to the Mississippi, she’s even better.  Maybe one day we could drive it, right from top to bottom. Get to Louisiana in time for Mardi Gras.”

Castiel smiled then.

“Sounds like a plan.” He said.

Dean grinned momentarily, before clearing his throat.

“So, uh... You lived your whole life in Wyoming?” He asked.

“No, only from when I was six.”

“Oh. And you never wanted to leave? I mean, it was nice and all, but that town was on the small side of tiny.”

“I guess. I wasn’t really worried about it. You could say I stayed because I had no reason not to. I was waiting for one, I think.”

“Good timing on my part.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed with a small laugh, “I was fine while I was there, and now that I’m not, I have an almost burning desire to keep it that way. If that makes sense.”

“Sure. So why’d your folks move to Wyoming?”

“They didn’t.”

“Oh,” Dean coughed nervously, “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“You, uh... You got somebody there missing you?”

“Also dead.”

“Shit” Dean muttered to himself.

“It’s okay,” Castiel said, scratching at a hangnail, “I got emancipation and an old house full of belongings.”

“Um. Being left a home sounds pretty great.” Dean said, trying to recover the conversation.

“If you’re into that. I sold it. Moved in with Ash.”

“Well, you’ve certainly burned all your bridges.”

Castiel supposed that he had. He changed the subject.

“What about you, where are you from?”

Dean shrugged.

“Not really from anywhere. I’ve lead a very mobile life from early on.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Yeah, well. The grass is greener, and all that crap.”

“You got anybody?”

“My dad, I guess.”

“Where’s he?”

“Not here, obviously.” Dean said, a smile flashing across his face.

“That’s too bad.”

“Mm. I had my brother too, but he... Doesn’t hunt anymore.” Dean said, swallowing thickly.

“Oh. You see him often?”

“Never.”

“Man,” Said Ash suddenly, “You two need to loosen up.”

He shoved his hand into the front seat, offering up the mostly gone joint.

“Take a hit,” He said, “Why’d you get into all this heavy shit anyway? It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out, and we’re not in prison. Let’s just all be chill.”

“I am chill man,” Dean said, “And I’m driving.”

“Roll a new one, I’ll come join you.” Castiel said, unbuckling his seat belt to clamber over into the back.

He slumped down in the seat with Ash humming absentmindedly next to him, rolling paper.

“Know anything about Santa Fe?” he asked.

“Nah, dude.” Ash said, “Wish we were going to Albuquerque though, that place sounds badass.”

“We can swing through if you like.” Dean said over his shoulder, “Try find a ghost or something.”

“Awesome.” Ash said, lighting up and breathing deep.

“What about you, Cas? Anywhere you’d like to go?”

Castiel sighed, his breath laced with smoke.

“Anywhere is fine with me.”

“Easy to please.”

“Only if you show me a good time.” Castiel said, pushing his foot lightly into the back of the driver’s-side seat.

“Sweet heart, I’ll show you the time of your life.”

Ash coughed a laugh.

“Hey can we roll up the windows? All the good stuff’s getting out.”

“Seriously? No. Not in my car. I don’t need her smelling the same way as you look.”

“And what way is that?” Ash asked, only half indignant.

“Like a guy who knows how to have a good time,” Dean said, his voice light, “But keep the fumes outside the car.”

“Sure thing, dude.”

“And if you burn the upholstery, I burn you, got it?”

“Loud and clear” Said Ash, blowing smoke rings out the open window and watching them swirl into nothing as the wind rushed past.

It took them awhile to get to Santa Fe. Ash found the stack of roadmaps kept under the passenger side seat, and asked to detour through all the towns with the best names.

“But seriously though, we gotta go to Bad Wound.”

“Ash it’s two hours in the opposite direction.” Castiel argued.

“Yeah but, like, even so.”

“No.”

“What about Gayville?”

“That is literally even further away.”

Ash was relegated a back-seat-passenger-only soon after that.

They spent the evening in silence as they rolled through Nebraska, Castiel’s head resting on his arms again, gaze fixed firmly on the distant skyline of far-off farm buildings and tall trees. Dusk swirled over their heads as it reached across hundreds of miles of flat farm land, stretching to tuck itself into the horizon as the stars came out above them. The radio played softly as night fell, and Ash snored gently from where he lay on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge of the bench seat to rest on the floor.

Dean sat beside Castiel, not really noticing the impending dark. He was thinking about how an empty highway at twilight might be a good place to show Castiel how far apart to put his feet when firing a gun, and how to hold it with steady arms, to count heartbeats and focus on breath.

 _“There_ ,” he thought, “ _In the shadows of those trees.”_

But he kept driving.

He thought about how Bobby was wrong, and that it made no difference to him if the car was empty or not, that silence was inevitable in the dead of night, no matter how many souls were around.

“ _I can barely even hear them breathing over the engine.”_

He thought that, probably, Castiel and Ash would spend one night in a cold field waiting for a goat-eating dog before politely asking to be dropped off at the next available point. That probably it was all for the best, because if he were being honest, here, in the dark, he wouldn’t want anyone to live this life.

He thought about his dad, then.

 

*

 

Castiel broke the silence, a quiet murmur shared between them in the darkness.

 “I thought we were going to Denver?” he asked as they headed deeper into Nebraska.

 “We are,” Dean replied, “But I need to make a quick stop first.”

Cas was quiet, letting time unfold before him, and eventually Dean moved to leave the interstate, steering them to a small bar on a smaller highway.

“What is this place?” Ash asked, slumping out of the back seat with all the grace of a three-legged sloth.

“This,” Dean answered, “Is The Roadhouse.”

And so it was—the neon sign confirmed it. They didn’t end up staying for long, Dean leaning on the bar and talking with a woman who had a hard mouth and soft eyes.

“Here you go,” came a voice from beside them, a young blonde girl with a white apron around her waist. She handed Ash a beer, her fingers marred the condensation on the glass.

“Thanks,” Ash said, “I love the vibe of this place. It’s like Rodeo Grunge.”

“I suppose so,” replied the girl, “If you like crotchety old drunks and shitty wifi.”

“Maybe I do,” Ash said, and he turned to face her properly.

Cas tuned out the rest of the conversation, choosing instead to focus on Dean, the line of his shoulders in his too-big leather jacket. The bend in his legs, and the way he tapped the tip of his boot against the floor while his other leg took all his weight.

Castiel hadn’t looked at someone like that in a long time. He felt an unfamiliar warmth settle in his stomach when Dean turned to meet his gaze, tipping his head in an indication that it was time to leave.

“Well Jo, I’ll see you around,” Ash said to the girl. Cas watched him finish off his drink, reminiscent of the times they would shotgun beers in the kitchen, during the long gaps between customers. That would never happen again he mused as he followed Dean out into the dark parking lot. 

 

He spoke once more, just before they reached Denver, asking if Dean was hungry at all.

“Yeah, I guess I could eat,” Dean said, “It’s not like we’re on a tight schedule.”

“Would anything be open?”

Dean smiled.

“Yeah, probably. You want to eat at a stop along the highway? We could always go downtown, hit a few bars.”

Castiel laughed.

“It’s past midnight. I’m willing to bet most bars would be a mess right about now.”

“I’d bet the fun was just starting. But highway it is, there’s probably a diner, or a rest stop somewhere.”

“You must eat a lot of diner food.”

“You see an oven in here? What else am I gonna eat.”

“I just thought maybe you had a home base somewhere.”

“Nah. Baby’s my home,” Dean said, shifting his grip on the steering wheel, “A house just makes things complicated. You always end up feeling like you gotta go back to it.”

“I think the point is that you would want to.” Castiel said, his voice quiet.

“Well I don’t.” Dean grit his teeth, “What about over there, it looks open.”

“Sure.”

They left Ash to sleep in the backseat - Castiel said they could get something for him on the way out. He chose a seat at the counter, leaning over the peeling laminate of the menu.

“What are you having?” He asked Dean.

“Bacon Cheese burger, extra fries.” Dean said with a grin.

“A creature of habit.”

“No,” Dean said, feigning seriousness, “A creature who has eaten a bacon cheeseburger before. I mean, come on. It doesn’t get much better.”

“I think I’ll have the soup.”

“No man, you can’t hunt on that.”

“We’ve been driving around for most of a week, I think I’m fine on that front.”

“Well, you need to keep your energy up.”

“It’s one in the morning, I should be asleep.”

“Whatever.”

“Maybe I’ll get a hamburger to eat at breakfast.”

“A hamburger? You have no class, man.”

Castiel laughed.

“Bacon and cheese make you classy?”

“Damn straight.”

“Well alright then.”

“Ash can have a hamburger.”

“I’m sure he’d like that.”

The cashier ambled over then, standing above them silently with a notepad. Dean coughed, motioning for Cas to go first. They gave their orders to a blank stare of a man, and then sat in awkward silence as he shuffled off again.

“Also,” Dean started, “Speaking of bacon-cheese, the burger you made that night was amazing. Like, easily in the top five.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, chuckling, “It has been said in the past that were it not for Ash’s fry-cooking abilities, he would have been fired a long time ago.”

“He strikes me as the ‘lazy-but-talented’ type.”

“Oh, you’re not wrong. Sometimes I genuinely worry that he’s a genius in hiding from the government, I mean, he knows how to do things that regular people wouldn’t know, you know?”

“I definitely know, did you miss what I do for a living?”

Castiel laughed again.

“Do you make much money?”

“I make no money. My side jobs are hustling pool and scamming credit card companies.” Dean said, his smile fading as he fiddled with the corner of a napkin.

Castiel’s eyes widened.

“Wow. That’s pretty... Illegal.” He said, quietly.

Dean chewed on his lip for a few moments, before shrugging.

“Someone’s gotta do the job, and someone’s gotta pay for it.” He said, defensive.

“I guess.” Castiel said, scratching dried a spot ketchup off the countertop out of habit.

“Look,” Dean said, turning to face him, hesitating to speak again.

“No, it’s- It’s fine,” Castiel said, “Really. I get it. It’s not exactly like you can clock in before you go staking vampires or something. It’s just, you know. A bit shocking.”

“Sure.” Dean said, before continuing sheepishly, “And, uh... Staking vampires is actually just a myth. You gotta, um, slice the head off.”

He jerked a thumb across his throat.

“Oh.” Castiel said slowly.

“I know, dude. Takes some getting used to.” Dean chuckled.

“...Yeah.”

“Ash is right, this is all a bit heavy.” Dean said.

Any reply Castiel might have had was then cut off by the arrival of two plates stacked with grease. Dean looked pleased, and Castiel was pleased in turn. They only talked a little over their dinner, two people sharing time in the pre-dawn stillness of a city at rest. It was dark in the diner, and so when Dean spoke more of vampires and how many he’d met, he did so while bathed in orange light from the street-lamp outside. It was quiet, and it was calm, and he felt at peace.

“I feel bad telling you this stuff, man,” He’d said at one point, “It changes lives, and never for the better.”

Castiel had thought on this for a bit, clearing the last of his fries from the plate.

“It definitely feels surreal. I have nothing but a two second memory, those teeth...”

He trailed off, staring out the window into the dark of the parking lot, his face half in shadow. They were in a strange situation - had he not acted on instinct, he would probably still be at home, spending his nights taking orders and discussing the disappeared murderer. But he felt panic, desperation, when that thing - the ‘Crocotta’ - had pushed over people he knew. Castiel had never had much in common with the people he lived around, but that never meant they weren’t his people. Castiel had felt it within him, this urgency to get to the creature before it’s hideous teeth made a second appearance.

“When it comes down to it,” Dean said, interrupting Castiel’s thoughts, “It was a fight-or-flight kinda deal, and your brain said to fight, to protect.”

Castiel turned to look, meeting Dean’s gaze.

“As green as you are,” Dean continued, “At the end of the day, those instincts count for something. Where I’m from, it means that people live longer lives because of you, because you made that choice. I think that when push comes to shove, you’ll make the right call. You’ve been faced with a monster before, and, knowing nothing, you jumped right in. Man, once I get you all learned up, you’ll be one scary motherfucker.”

Dean’s eyes spoke of warmth, and Castiel basked in it for a moment.

“I’ve always wanted to be thought of as intimidating and formidable.” He said, crossing his arms on the table.

“Dude, you just wait for it.” Dean said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

An extra burger in hand for Ash, they strode back out into the night with purpose, as though they were men with places to be.

“Hey, do you want to sleep a little?” I’m happy to drive for a bit if you want a break.” Castiel offered as they approached the car.

“Cas, man,” Dean stopped walking, “I like you and everything but I’ll let you know when you’re allowed to drive my car.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“No offense meant, buddy, but she’s my baby, and I love her.”

“Should I leave you two alone for a bit, or...?”

“Fuck off and get in the car.”

“Alright, but when you need a Nana nap, you just let me know and I’ll make sure no perverts molest her while you’re asleep.”

“Hah hah, real funny.”

“Dean, when it comes to fight-or-flight, I’m a fighting kind of guy and-”

“Shut up.”

If Dean yawned every couple of minutes on their drive into Santa Fe, it wasn’t Cas who said anything repeatedly about how such tiredness was avoidable.

 

*

 

Castiel had seen more Cactuses in the last half hour than he ever had in his life. He was drowsy as they turned off the highway, and hoped that wherever they went had fewer cacti. Dean began to case the outskirts of town, hoping to spot the cheapest looking motel possible. He explained carefully that it was more to do with the honour system that every good shady establishment seemed to stand by, than the cheapness of the place. If a manager had something to hide, they would usually go ahead and add you to the list, he said.

Castiel understood this, but it didn’t make his collapse onto a squeaky, thin mattress anymore comforting. He supposed it was to be expected in a place that had twenty-four hour check ins.

“Alright, I’m beat. Let’s get an hour or two of shuteye before we go and see a man about a very big dog.” Dean said, laying back on the double bed to the left of Castiel’s.

Ash disrupted the peace by clambering over Castiel onto the un-occupied half of the bed.

“What?” he said of Castiel’s protests, “Bed’s are always nicer when you got someone to share with.”

“Shh.” Came Dean’s voice from beyond Ash’s back.

Castiel decided to put up rather than shut up, rolling his eyes as the spikes of Ash’s mullet dug into his neck.

“I get that you want to share,” he whispered, “But do you have to share so close?”

“Shh.” Ash said, agreeing with Dean’s opinion on the matter.

“Fine.”

They slept that way until the sun came up properly, casting bright light across the floor through the cactus-patterned curtains. It was all a bit much for Castiel.

He heard Dean get up at one point, but ignored him in favour of shutting his eyes again, pushing Ash to the other side of the bed as he got more comfortable.

It felt good, Dean thought, to get back into the swing of things. Dust swirled around him, up into the sky in it’s best rendition of a cloud as he drove down a dirt track to a beat-up farm house. He’d stopped off first at the police station, fifteen minutes down the highway from where he’d left his companions to sleep. They weren’t used to life on the road. He empathized.

 

The police hadn’t had much to say, other than that it could possibly be a bear, which Dean did not even bother to respond to. He’d thanked them before driving another few miles to the Bushel farm in need of his expertise.

“Hello there!” Called a wrinkled woman, waving to him from the porch at the front of the beat-up farm house.

He waved in return, parking and shutting off the ignition.

“Howdy. I heard you have a dog problem.”

“Oh yeah,” She said, hurrying down the steps to receive him, “Real big dog problem. Ate half my goats.”

“Well, we can’t have that.”

She introduced herself as the widowed April Bushel. Dean asked her about times and dates and places, walking with her out into the pastures to survey animal tracks and damaged fences. He said he felt he could handle her problem. She said he looked nice in a suit. He accepted her offer of fresh lemonade, before promising to return that evening with his colleagues - and every evening after that - until they got the beast. Then he bid her farewell and drove back to town.

“Rise and shine, pretty women,” He said upon his return, “The day is half gone and we’ve only just begun.”

“What time is it?” Castiel asked from where he lay, his face half pressed into the pillow.

“Nearly twelve. I got you breakfast.”

“Thank the lord in heaven above.” Ash said, his drool collecting in the crevice of Castiel’s elbow.

“Just call me Dean.” said Dean, dropping a takeout bag on the bed with a wink.

Castiel got up, stretching.

“Did you find the... The dog thingy?”

“The Chupacabra?” Dean said, his mouth full of cold egg and sausage, “Yeah, it was there. We’re going back tonight to nail the sucker.”

“Oh man, did you get one of them bagels?” Ash asked excitedly, poking around in the paper bag.

“Yep. I remembered how disgusting you were the last time you ate one, and figured you probably liked it.” Dean said, his tone friendly.

“Awesome,” Ash said, sitting back to devour his breakfast bagel.

“Cas, here’s your no-egg-double-cheese.”

“Thanks.” Castiel said, “Does this mean we have to shoot guns?”

“Yeah buddy, you’re gonna have to shoot the gun.”

“At Lassie.” Ash added, slumping sideways as Castiel shoved him.

“I wish Chupacabra’s looked like fuckin’ Lassie.” Dean said, tossing crumpled wrappers into the trash.

“Alright,” He continued, “You beauties want to see the sights of Santa Fe, or should we do a little study session on the Chupacabra?”

Dean pulled a thick book from his duffel bag, having decided for them already.

“And later on Cas, I’m taking you out shooting.”

“Will you at least buy him dinner first?” Ash asked, eyebrow raised.

“I got him breakfast.” Dean said, feigning indignance.

“Breakfast is adequate. I feel sufficiently courted.” Castiel said with a straight face.

“Good,” Dean said, flipping the tomb open to the right page, “Then read this bit on Chupacabras and how to fuck them up.”

 

*

 

They were sat in the dark, dry grass scratching at their backs as the stars shone down from the cloudless sky above them. Their folding camp chairs squeaked with every movement.

April Bushel had given them a thermos and a loaf of warm bread before watching them walk out into her fields, guns slung over shoulders.

Dean had decided that, while it was a good idea for everyone to have a handgun, a rifle was probably best for the job. He had one hand on the .22 in his lap, while the other gripped the hot coffee provided by Mrs. Bushel.

“Do you think you’ll get it tonight?” Castiel whispered next to him, hip to hip in the dark.

“Maybe. Hard to tell.”

“The book said they feed in cycles.”

“Yeah, and the last goat was drained five weeks ago. It should surface soon.”

Castiel fell silent, looking out across the night. A thought struck him.

“What if this time it goes for a person?” He asked Dean.

“That’s why we got Ash stationed by the house.”

“A hundred metres away. What if it comes in the other side?”

“It won’t. The tracks have been coming from this direction, every time.”

Castiel chewed his lip nervously. He ran his fingers along the cold metal of his gun, gripping it tightly the way he remembered Dean’s hands positioning his.

It was unfortunate that Castiel chose then to refill his cup, the pouring of the coffee masking the sounds of rustling grass in the still night air. And that he then asked quietly for the time, meaning that Dean was not watching when the stalks around them began to shift. By the time Dean noticed, the dog was on them, and he had but a split second to get the shot off.

He didn’t exactly miss, but he might as well have.

It leapt through the air at the sound, snarling as the rifle was knocked askew from Dean’s hands, the both of them flung backwards off their chairs.

“Ash!” Castiel shouted, grappling for his gun in the dark.

He heard Dean shout behind him, his name, higher and more hysterical the longer it took for Cas to find his weapon.

In the end, he forgot most of what Dean had told him, not waiting for heartbeats or breaths, but holding the gun as steady as possible, aimed at the wiry brown fur that he could barely see in the starlight.

The shot rang out, loud and piercing, and the Chupacabra fell silent.

“Dean!” Castiel called, crawling over to where the beast lay dead, “Are you okay, did I shoot you by accident?”

Dean coughed, stuck half under the corpse as he caught his breath. Castiel helped to roll the body to the side, shakily pulling the rifle from where Dean had forced the barrel between it’s teeth. They were bigger than the Crocotta’s, although there weren’t as many.

“Are you okay?” Castiel repeated quietly.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dean groaned.

“Did it... Bite you?”

“Nah, I gagged it.” Dean said, gesturing to the .22, which Castiel handed back to him.

“I don’t know what happened.” Castiel said.

“Well, I imagine I would have shot it sooner if I hadn’t been looking at my watch.”

“Oh fuck. Sorry Dean.”

Dean looked at him steadily, his face half-lit in the moonlight.

“It’s fine, Cas.” He said.

“Not really, I-”

“You didn’t know,” Dean said firmly, cutting him off, “You didn’t know it would go down right at that moment. Mistakes happen.”

Dean gathered up the thermos and the camp chairs, before setting off towards the house.

“Now, mistakes get people killed, but in this case, you managed to not die, or to shoot me. So I’d say you passed.”

“Yeah? What’s my mark.” Castiel asked, his voice as shaky as his limbs.

“A solid C+” Dean said, grinning over at him.

“Good. Room for improvement.”

“Exactly, man.”

“Hey!” Ash called, jogging up to them, “Are you guys alive?”

“Yeah, still breathing.” Said Dean.

“Oh, cool. Just I heard Castiel here shouting like a little bitch, so I figured I’d come and save your asses.”

“Dean was caught off-guard, so I took care of the dog problem. He was lucky I was around to protect him, to be honest.” Cas said, deadpan.

“Oh, sure.” Dean said, nodding sarcastically.

“Okay, but what really happened?” Ash asked.

Dean and Cas shared a look.

“Pretty much just that,” Dean said, shrugging, “He asked what the time was, I was looking at my watch - it attacked. Just plain bad luck.”

“And then Castiel shot the dog?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Right.” Ash said, one hand on his hip.

“Now we salt and burn the body. Swap the guns for gasoline, and all that.” Dean said, starting off towards the house again.

They worked quickly, and no one spoke as smoke and the smell of burning flesh filled the warm air around them. It was quiet, and Castiel did not notice as dawn closed around them for staring into the fire. It had been a week since they left Wilson, and Castiel felt calm. He had made the right choice, he thought.

They declined April’s offer of a cooked breakfast, feeling sick in their souls after smelling burnt meat all night. The moment they got back to the motel, Castiel stripped off his dirty, sooty clothes and climbed into bed, lying down on his front.

“Dude, you gotta shower and then we’re out of here.” Dean said, nudging at him.

“No.” Castiel growled back, “Sleeping.”

“Rule number one is that you don’t hang around after a hunt.”

Castiel sat up on his elbows.

“I thought rule number one was that you don’t tell anyone about monsters.”

“I heard that rule number one was to never leave your gun uncleaned.” Ash said from the bathroom door, his mouth full of toothpaste.

“Uh, all the rules are rule number one, because you cannot rank the importance of them.” Dean said, attempting to save face.

“Sure,” Castiel said, “In that case, another rule number one is to always be well rested in order to kick ass and take names, alright? So go lie down before you get any more sleep deprived.”

Dean threw up his arms, but he took his shoes off anyway, lying flat on his back and staring blankly at the ceiling. Castiel surveyed him, one eyebrow raised.

“Wow,” He said, “You sure look relaxed.”

“I’m antsy man, we should have booked it by now.”

“Yeah well. What’s going to happen? No one is going to tell you off for a little pest control, alright? This time I’m sure it’s fine if you get a little sleep.”

“I do value my shut-eye.”

“There you go. Now shut your mouth as well, you’re keeping me awake.”

“...Oh so you can’t sleep when I’m talking, but Ash gargling is fine.”

“Shh.”

They left Santa Fe that evening.

  
*  


“Here you go.” Dean said, joining Ash and Castiel at their table

It was a rickety booth, at the back of a diner on the outskirts of Amarillo, Texas.They’d gone the long way out of Santa Fe, because Ash had been determined to see a town called Las Vegas that was _the_ Las Vegas.

“Hey man, these are pretty legit.” Ash said, scrutinizing his new fake ID.

“Thanks, I made it myself.”

“Yeah, it shows,” Ash said, quickly backtracking as he saw Dean’s face, “I mean. Not much. Only if you know what to look for.”

“Which you apparently do, for some reason?” Castiel added, sipping his milkshake.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Not that I care to share with the class.”

“But you never bring anything for show and tell.”

“Shut up and drink your milkshake.”

“Alright, alright,” Dean said, “Ash, they’re fine, right?”

“Perfectly fine. Once the laminate cools it will be pretty hard to tell just by lookin’ that this ain’t the real deal.”

“Good,” Dean stole a fry from Castiel’s plate, “I found a case.”

“Really?” Ash asked, looking up from his new ID.

“Yeah, really. A ghost. Out by Tulsa, bout half a day from here.”

“And we can go with you?” Castiel asked.

“Sure, if you want to,” Dean smiled, “Give you an excuse to play FBI.”

“What do you know about it? The Ghost?” Ash asked.

“I know that it’s the spirit of some little kid who disappeared in the vicinity of the town well, so three guesses as to what happened.”

“Oh shit, that is so just like The Ring.”

“No, man. The Ring is some major B.S. Video tape ghost who phones you? Come on.”

“I shat my pants at The Ring!” Ash said, “Oh god, I’m going to die.”

“You won’t die, I’ll be right there.”

“No way. I’m probably going to die.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.”

“And miss out on seeing a real ghost? Are you kidding?”

“Makes perfect sense.” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel who used a hand to hide his smile.

“Anyways, it’s another five hours east, so let’s get moving before the sun goes down. I saw the Chainsaw Massacres, and I ain’t driving through Texas at night.” Dean said, winking at his companions as he got up again.

“You’re not going to eat?” Castiel asked.

“I will once we cross the state line, alright. Now let’s haul ass.”

 

The drive to Tulsa was a loud one, as Dean had made the executive decision to play Black Sabbath most of the way there. Castiel didn’t mind too much - he preferred the sound of tires on the road, but music wasn’t too big a distraction. Even with Ash aggressively drumming on thin air in the back seat.

It didn’t take much research to find where the child was buried—Dean flashed his ID to a librarian with confidence and ease, and they got exactly what the were looking for. They were in and out in less than five minutes. All they had to do then was wait until dark to sneak among the dead under the cover of the night.

“Will anything attack us this time?” Cas asked, taking the beat-up power drill Dean handed him.

“There’s usually about a fifty-fifty chance,” Dean said, offering him a smile. It felt reassuring, and it warmed Cas to his core.

They were across the road from a cemetery. Everything about it felt upper-middle-class, right down to the perfectly manicured flower-beds and the clean wrought-iron fence. They walked quietly, along the winding paths of the graveyard towards a square stone building. It seemed to rise out of the ground like a natural feature, surrounded by mist. On paper, it was stereotypical, but the unease Cas felt was genuine and real.

“Man, this is so creepy,” Ash muttered, rolling his shoulders as though to free them from the weight of something unpleasant.

“We’ll need someone to be lookout,” Cas said, assuming that would be the case, “Maybe if you wait outside and signal if anyone approaches?”

Ash nodded, discomfort rolling off him in waves. They reached the crypt in silence, where Ash inserted himself into a shadow cast by the eaves.

Dean smiled at Cas, a warm thing in the middle of a cold night, and hauled out his bolt cutters, snipping through the padlock on the gate as though by rote, catching the chain before it clanged against the bars.

Once inside, they found the right name plate, and Dean carefully removed the cover. Sliding the coffin out to open it was a struggle, but Dean moved like he’d done it before, which, Cas imagined, he probably had. The whole thing felt ceremonious, even though it wasn’t.  

“I fucking hate this, and we didn’t even see a ghost,” Ash said, his face screwed up—probably because of the smell, Cas thought. The kid they torched had been dead for a little over a decade, but the stink of burning remains was awful no matter how old the body, Dean assured them.

“Maybe field work isn’t for you,” Dean said, his tone understanding as he strolled back towards the parking lot, a night-time tour guide of horror and death.

 

Ash left them not long after that. A couple of days, another case, and he had to call it quits. Cas understood. It was a pretty grisly existence, he didn’t envy Dean having to do it alone for so long.

“You could head back up to the roadhouse,” Dean suggested, “A good a place as any if you don’t want to be in the field.”

“I think I will,” Ash said, and he did.

  
*

 

Things were quieter, with just the two of them. Something about Dean was intoxicating, maybe all of him. Ash had been there to water it down, for Cas to slide into the back seat and distract himself when there was a fluttering in his stomach that he couldn’t identify, or when he didn’t realize he’d been staring at Dean and Dean caught his eye for the fifth time in as many minutes, sending him a small smile that felt significant.

He might have tried to ignore it, had it not been for the lingering hands. Dean had started—or maybe Cas was imagining it—to touch, longer and more often. A finger on his elbow to get his attention, a hand on his waist in close quarters. It was nice, and Cas liked it.

They were half-way across West Virginia when Cas mentioned it. It. The feeling.  

“You have a lovely smile,” he said, entirely by accident. He’d been watching Dean flirt with the desk clerk, trying to get them a nicer room. He’d turned to wink at Cas and Cas was suddenly breathless.

“Thanks,” Dean said, treating him to another smile, lighting up his face, the room, Cas’s whole world, “You have nice eyes.”

Dean thought he had nice eyes. Cas wasn’t sure what to do with that information, but he thought about it as he looked through his duffle for a clean shirt, while Dean organized his guns for cleaning.

And then he thought about it some more, and decided he did know what to do.

“Dean,” he said, his hand resting on the canvas of his bag as though to steady him, “Do you like men?”

Dean paused, fingers drumming on the table top. His eyes were fixed on a point just over Cas’s shoulder, and Cas could feel his indecision as though it were a tangible thing.

“I only ask, because I like men,” Cas carried on, wanting to break the silence, to make this as easy as possible.

“Oh. Yeah,” Dean said, sounding a little dazed, “Me too.”

“Good,” Cas replied, turning back to his bag, wanting to let Dean recover from their little conversation.

Fingers drummed on the table top.

“What do you look for,” Dean asked, getting up from the table. His voice was smooth but his movements were tentative, “In a guy, I mean.”

“Oh,” Cas said, shifting his duffle to the floor, watching as Dean walked over to him, “I like a guy with a nice smile.”

“Is that right,” Dean murmured, reaching out to touch him.

The moment was coming, Cas knew it, waiting as he felt the tension build, the only part of the room he was aware of was the foot of space between them.

He felt hungry, unable to stop himself as he reached out, pulling Dean to him by his flannel. The space lessened to an inch or two and Cas wanted to devour him.

“Have you done this before?” Dean asked, so quiet that Cas nearly didn’t hear him.

“Yes,” he said bluntly, not wanting to explain that he sometimes drove five hours to Boise just to get a blowjob from a stranger he met in a gay bar, “Have you?”

“Once,” Dean said, unable to meet his eye.

“That’s okay,” Cas said, “We can go slow.”

He moved his hands onto Dean’s chest, fingers running across the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Dean’s hands were at his hips, unsure of themselves. It was so sweet, and so at odds with Dean’s confident demeanor that Cas couldn’t wait any longer.

He leaned in, pausing once to make sure Dean knew what was about to happen. Their noses touched, brushing gently together, and then their lips touched, in much the same way. He pressed deeper, wanting to feel Dean’s mouth against his. Dean’s fingers gripped tighter at his waist, pulling him closer, until they were chest to chest, kissing at the end of Cas’s bed.

“I want you,” he murmured against Dean’s lips, his own hands gripping Dean tight so as to keep him close.

“Okay,” Dean murmured back, “You can have me.”

Cas took his time, like he said he would, pushing Dean’s shirt from his shoulders as they kissed. The tension built but it wasn’t urgent. They didn’t have anywhere to be, except right where they were.

Dean’s chest was like silk under his fingertips, smooth and soft to the touch, skin draped over layers of hard muscle. He needed to know if his shoulders were the same, his back, his legs. Dean’s body was heaven in his hands and he rejoiced as he partook.

Dean’s hands were on him too, and it distracted him so much that he didn’t realize they were both standing there in their underwear until he felt Dean’s hands slide, unimpeded, over the cotton of his boxer-briefs.

“You’re so hot,” Dean said, his lips against Cas’s ear. Kisses against his neck had Cas clinging to Dean for dear life.

"Fuck,” he replied eloquently. Dean eased him back onto the bed, separating them for a moment so they could lay back on the pillows, instead of half-hanging off the edge.

Dean was half on top of him, his strong thigh nestled between Castiel’s and Cas could feel the hot press of him against his hip. He pushed his hands under the waistband of Dean’s underwear, the last barrier to having a gloriously naked Dean in his lap.

“You have a great ass, by the way,” he mumbled, grabbing two generous handfuls.

Dean laughed quietly against his neck, his hands running dizzying laps around Cas’s skin, across his chest and down his arms. Cas used his grip on Dean to rearrange them, pulling Dean on top of him properly, the full weight of him pressing Cas down into the mattress. It was addictive, Cas was sure of it. Now that he knew what it felt like, he couldn’t imagine not wanting it every minute of the rest of his life.

The pressure abated for a moment, Dean knelt over him so they could both ease off their underwear. Cas could feel his heart racing but it didn’t register, his focus solely on Dean’s face hovering above his, his chest moving as his breath quickened.

Feeling Dean on top of him, as naked as the day was long, felt like revelation. He was careful not to crush Cas, their cocks sliding into play next to one another. It was glorious. Dean’s hands gripped at Cas, looking for something to anchor him down as though he might otherwise float away.  Cas held him, a soothing hand at the back of his neck to keep him close for kissing, while the other explored the curved expanse of his back.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked him, quiet words for his ears only, and Cas could only nod his response, kissing Dean harder, pressing himself insistently against Dean.

They barely moved to begin with, a miniscule roll of Dean’s hips against his, unhurried and unstrenuous. Cas bent one of his legs, his foot anchored in the sheets, trying to make it easier for Dean to balance and get a rhythm going.

He looked down between their bodies, to see Dean’s length moving alongside his own. He took a moment to commit it to memory, sure in the knowledge that it was the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

“You feel so good,” he choked out, his mouth pressed to Dean’s neck, the skin there damp from the huff of his breath.

Dean rocked against him harder, like he was emboldened by Cas’s words. Cas clung to him, feeling like a small boat in a vast sea, succumbing to each wave of pleasure as it overtook him. They were flushed and sweating, moving insistently as the pressure built inside them.

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, echoing Cas’s thought from earlier.

Cas agreed wholeheartedly.

“Let me,” he said, pushing Dean off him a little, so that he could reach between their bodies.

Taking Dean’s cock in his hand instantly made it to the top five best moments of Cas’s life. It was pretty, flushed pink at the tip, and in proportion with the rest of Dean. He thought of all the things he might do with Dean’s dick in the future, and squeezed their dicks together in his palm.

Dean kept moving, his hips pushing him into Cas’s fist, while Cas stroked them both. It felt surreal. Nothing had ever felt this good, he was sure of it.

“Cas,” Dean moaned against his cheek, the want in his voice palpable.

“I’m going to blow you later, I think,” Cas said, rubbing his thumb against Dean’s tip, “Would you like that?”

Dean’s hands tightened, fingers digging into Cas’s skin as he picked up his pace, fucking recklessly into Cas’s hand.

“Would you blow me too?” he asked, fascinated by Dean’s reactions.

It didn’t take much more than that, a few more teasing words before Dean was spilling, his come smearing on Cas’s hand and the skin of his stomach. Cas watched him, his gaze gentle as Dean’s brain came back online.

“Shit,” he said. Cas could only smile.

Dean sat back, his skin flushed and shining with sweat, looming over Cas who was still achingly hard.

Cas took himself in hand again, Dean’s come slicking the way, and began to jerk himself off, watching Dean watch him.

Dean reached down, his hand joining Cas’s for the last few strokes before Cas was there too, his body bending into it as the wave overrode him, his own spend joining Dean’s against his skin in spurts.

Dean moved again, laying down next to him.

“I liked that a lot,” he said, his face soft and his smile sweet.

“I’m glad,” Cas replied, “I liked it a lot too.”

 

  
He woke up warm and content, his body curved around Dean’s. They’d cleaned off and climbed under the covers almost straight away, both road-weary and then physically tired out.

Now, though. Sunshine streamed in through the windows, and Cas could see the dust-motes in the air. He felt Dean shift against him, gentle movements that indicated he was awake.

“Good morning,” Cas murmured, pressing his face into the space between Dean’s shoulder blades, tucking his arm under Dean’s.

“Morning,” Dean replied, “Did you sleep okay?”

“I slept great,” Cas said, “And then I was unconscious for a few hours.”

He felt the rumble of Dean’s laughter under his hand.

“I think we have a case up in Ohio, if you’re interested,” Dean said, “I was thinking we could leave after breakfast.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, “After breakfast.”

“So you’re going to stay?” Dean asked, trying and failing to sound casual, “With me?”

“I’d like to,” Cas replied, just as uncertain, “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, taking Cas’s hand in his and twining their fingers together, “I was hoping you would.”

“You’d have to beat me off with a stick to keep me away,” Cas mumbled, still drowsy from sleep.

“I’ll beat you off any time you like,” Dean said, the grin evident in his voice.

“Fuck off,” Cas said, rolling eyes as he pulled Dean closer, “Behave yourself.”

Dean turned over then, so that they were facing each other. The earnestness in his expression made Cas’s chest ache with affection.

“How long? Will you stay, I mean,” Dean asked him, his eyes hopeful as he watched Cas, “Just so I have an idea...”

“As long as you’ll have me,” Cas replied, effectively ripping his heart out and nailing it to his sleeve.

Dean smiled at him then, brighter than any sunlit window ever could be.

“I’ll have you as long as you like,” Dean replied.

 It was nice, he thought. Not being lonely. 

 

 

_End_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr at Mom-i-watch-gay-porn.


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